


Still in Shadows

by Korpuskat



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Erik is a little creepy, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, a mixture of Eriks but heavily Kay inspired, mentions of drug abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3823570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korpuskat/pseuds/Korpuskat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The opera was scorched and left in ruins. The cellars below were searched for any trace of him, but nothing could be found.</p><p>In the aftermath, Christine Daae still has some unresolved issues and seeks their solutions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very long time since I've written a long fic, so, I'll bide my time and start with a short little prologue. 
> 
> This features a blending of Leroux's, Kay's, and Webber's phantoms.

“You know, he doesn’t let me sing in the house….” 

The quiet of five cellars below a burned and crumbling opera house was stifling. She sat, almost- just almost as quiet as the underground cavern. Her fortnight in the Phantom’s lair had taught her much of the cellar’s quietness and yet even more of the special quietness they took on when he was here. It was his lair, after all the destruction above, his kingdom remained. And yet she knew this before she’d even descended through the passageway from the streets behind the opera house.

Perhaps in other conditions she would’ve worried about her dress touching the dirty unkempt floor, but now she could only think of the eyes that only blazed in the dark. She couldn’t see them then, try as hard as she might.

“He says it reminds him too much of that night.” She continued quietly. “It’s what I love, yet he cannot stand it.”

The quietness was uninterrupted, continuous and heavy on her ears. The water- the lake she had crossed to reach his house- did not even ripple with disturbance. It was as though the whole cellar was frozen, oblivious to her completely.

Her jaw clenched, fists balled around the thin object that had brought her here as she looked through the darkness in vain. She could feel those eyes on her. She always knew when he was near- and he knew it as well, yet he remained hidden. She stood stiffly and stared at her hands. 

“After all of this you ignore me. You try to force me to marry you and now you won’t speak to me...” Something like a sob caught in her throat. “You’re as bad as he is.”

“I know you’re here!” She shouted, jerked, and lifted her arm as though to throw it in the water to force as least something here to acknowledge to her. She stood like that for several moments before lowering her arm again and staring again at the white half-face staring back at her with empty, black eyes.

“Meg said they found it in your house.” She said, her voice returning to its quiet tone. “She gave it to me. I’m not quite sure why.” 

She stared it for another long interval, as though she could force him to appear if she thought of the face it once hid. And finally she turned away from the water and found the first small alcove that bore a candelabra- its thick, white candles all burnt out except half an inch of the center most. She placed the white mask on the ledge, her fingers lingering over its surface.

And then she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification as I know I had been vague: this is set in a awful, confusing blend of Leroux, Kay, and Webber's universes with whatever ideas I gleaned from my own head. In short: Kay/Leroux's appearances for Erik; Movie!Webber's burning of the Opera house; Leroux's Nadir (who may or may not appear); Somewhere between Leroux and Webber's Christine; Leroux's final lair (with minor changes).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the fallout, Erik returns to his home beneath the opera house.

Six weeks was the time he allotted himself before he dared venture back to his home. Six weeks he lurked in the near ruined house he’d known so many years before. He’d dropped everything and moved before (more than once, and even that was such an understatement it left a bitter taste), but his home beneath the opera was just that- the first real home he’d had in so long it was too much to let go of it. The six week at been long and bitter and he ached to return to what little space he had called home for years.

The crowd that had thoroughly searched and overturned every inch of his abode was too thick to bother checking for trap doors beneath the copious rugs that adorned the entire floor surface, so the few items he’d managed to tuck away there before his own escape were left untouched. The majority of his music, books, and other belongings had been recklessly tossed about, no doubt some lost to the waters that had protected his privacy while others had been confiscated by the police in their investigation. Fruitless, in the end, obviously, as he was still a wanted man.

The lost items were valueless. Anything he’d composed worth keeping he’d memorized in his soul. There were hardly any objects he valued in the least- most were stolen anyway so it was at no monetary loss to him. The mask was, of course, something he dreaded losing but it would take very little to fashion himself another, yet he dreaded the task. The mask would be replaced eventually- it had to be, but he had managed without it before and he would again. For the time being he did what he did best: hide in the shadows.

The emptiness she had left inside him, that on the other hand, was different. That was his only true deficit at the end of the their little game. He had only thought he lived in darkness, only thought he had seen the true horrors of the world. But her betrayal left a new wound, so much fresher and deeper than those he’d sustained in those years long ago, before the opera. He had trusted her.

Returning to his home had reminded him anew of what he had lost in his folly. He hadn’t yet dared to enter her room; it was strange and foreign now- something forbidden, kept only as a relic from better times. He could stand in the doorway and examine what she’d left. The bed only half-made, covered in the beautiful emerald duvet he had selected for her comfort; a small bottle of perfume on her nightstand next to a book she’d taken from his bookshelves. Venus in Furs, he read the spine. She may as well have taken all of it with her- it didn’t belong to him anymore.

He spent most of the day cleaning up his home, returning it to its former glory and, most importantly, activated all the traps between his home and the entrance through the opera house. Most of which he previously left unarmed (the thought of Christine wandering down to find him and accidently setting one off made his stomach tighten in anxiety), but with the majority of the building in ruins he had little need to go there now. Besides which, it was the only entrance the police knew of to his home and keeping them out once again was a high priority. Using the Rue Scribe entrance was simpler now.

But as he poled the boat back to the shore of his home on the lake he felt a sudden emptiness again. Anger flooded through him-- he had given her all he had and she alienated him from his own home. The rage cooled too quickly; even as much as he wanted to hate her he could not. This was all his doing after all. He lied and deceived her, he and his monstrous face drove her away. The face she had held for one beautiful moment. Erik raised his hand just as he did in the memory, holding the hand that held his deformed flesh.

But that hand was gone, and his hand touched his own cold, knotted skin. He hissed and pulled his hand away, bitter and thankful it was at least gloved and partially protected from himself. 

A sickness settled in his stomach. No one would ever touch him like that again. He stood stiffly and surveyed his home. If he was to return to his life in his lake house he needed to restock food, and judging from the soft itching in his skin, his former mistress was calling to him again. 

He had sworn her off during his romp as the Angel- too intoxicated with Christine’s voice to need the synthetic embrace she offered. And when the mob had turned over every stone in his home it seems they have found and confiscated his remaining stash. No matter. The man he had bought from previously was surely still supplying; it was a… hard habit to break. Yes… Erik would visit him after a back door visit to the grocer.

Erik donned his cape and hat, selecting a black, silken masquerade mask only as an after thought- he didn’t need the extra attention tonight. Though this mask served the same purpose, his mask had almost felt a part of him. At the very least it served as a better skin than his own…

Erik moved swiftly towards the Rue Scribe entrance, gracefully sidestepping his traps with his mind only set on what he would do in this fallout. Without the Opera he had no “salary”, no liaison to the world above. His mind was a world away when he heard the soft noises of someone in his tunnels.

It wasn’t uncommon for some poor beggar to hide away in the tunnels to escape the chilled winter snow, but rarely did they make it far enough to reach the lake. Erik slipped into the shadows, silence his steps, and resumed his easiest role of the Phantom.

He rounded a corner and his heart near stopped dead in his chest. 

Her beautiful hair, skin graced with the soft, white lacy dress- so similar to the one she had worn in his home. Her visage so close, so indescribably beautiful, and yet he knew, somehow if he approached her now she must run, or fade away like the mirage she was. _Surely this must be Hell!_

Yes, that must be what this was. A mirage or hallucination- perhaps he’d already found his supplier and let the morphine slither into his skin and he had begun dreaming already. Despite his seeming resolute idea that she must not be real, he stayed in the darkness, watching and waiting.

She spoke, quietly, turning her head and looking for him. Damn her, despite all that had passed between then she could still sense him, too closely tied were they for that bond to break. His heart thudded again, she must be real. Her gorgeous face, searching for him in the shadows- her pupils so wide in the dark he could only make out the tiniest ring of brown.

He watched her display, listened to her voice, so beautiful and strange, worn and rough in their time apart. Her words strange things, fragmented and more to herself than him, yet she was here. The voice in his screaming that she shouldn’t- couldn’t be here. He’d forcibly taken her down here, kidnapped her, if he was honest. Why? Why would she-

She screamed at the water, held something white- his mask? - high over her head, arm shaking and aching to throw it in the water. She let out a defeated sob and looked at the white leather. 

Erik’s whole body ached to step forward, to confront her- by God, she was here, he could, her could take her and nobody would ever even know. He could make her stay this time- prove she loved him--. He quelled these thoughts, rubbed at the bridge of his nose. No, no, he… he knew better. If there was one thing he was capable of it was learning from his mistakes. 

He looked up again to see her place the mask on the alcove’s ledge and leave. A shuddering sigh left his body unchecked as she walked away. What if she didn’t return? Erik clenched his jaw and held his traitorous tongue, so ready to fall to his knees and plead for her to stay. By the grace of God she had returned to his lair on her own terms, surely she must want something of him- he would give her anything. He swore to himself he wouldn’t ruin this again, even if she never wanted him as he wanted her he would do everything, anything for her. That was truly love wasn’t it?

When he was sure she had left for the surface he approach the alcove and retrieved his mask. He turned it over in his hands. Was it her version of an olive branch? She could have burned it if she like, yet she kept it these long weeks… 

He peeled off the black silk mask and replaced it with his worn, custom molded leather skin. A gift from her, no matter its intention, was precious. He would return the sentiment a thousandfold if given the chance. But for now all he could do was wait…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time Christine visited he was waiting for her.

A day passed. And then another and another, quickly followed by a week that faded into three. Waiting was bitter work; it filled him with questions he had no answers to and they always cycled back to the inevitable _why?_ For as long as he had observed humanity from its shadows he had no explanation for her visit, but then, that was a trait he always admired in her. She seemed- to him- so fundamentally different than anyone else he’d ever known. 

The time left him with little to do. He needed to see her again. The world had so little offer him now. Food held no taste, books had no interest. Hints of music pulled at his fingers, begging to be released, played, and composed as so many of his works desired. But every time he sat at his organ or picked up his bow he felt the music fade. Even if he played the old arrangements he once admired they felt flat- his mind too preoccupied with listening for his alarms to get lost in the twining melody as he once did. Even when the morphine called to him to numb his pain, he could not find it in himself to dull his senses in case she did wander in.

The fear she would never return settled heavy in his stomach. He wished to scoff, even laugh at himself. He’d lived a solemn six weeks with no hope of ever seeing her again, yet one quiet visit had unraveled his once iron resolve. 

He had condemned himself to live on the outskirts of humanity once again, damned his talent to only be discovered years after his death as so many great artists were. Besides, by then he would look as much a corpse as anyone else and finally they would see past his disgusting flesh to see the true greatness of his mind. But all it took was one visit from his angel and he was lost to her again; he was Odysseus vainly fighting against the great Charybdis’s all-consuming whirlpool. This obsession would destroy him in the end, he was sure of it. But as so many were hopelessly drawn to his siren song, he was just as hopeless to her very existence. 

As time wore on he worried that she had visited again. Perhaps he had not seen her, or- he thought dreadfully- she had fallen into one of his traps. Fear crashed through his veins as he rushed through his own maze, checking each hidden room carefully for traces of her presence. Though he could find none, the anxiety he felt for the possibility of her visits going unknown was too much for him to return to his home.

Though no work could hold his attention he vainly retrieved old books and stored them on the far side of the lake, close to where he saw her before. She couldn’t go unnoticed if he was already there, surely. So he settled there next to the water in the dim candle light. Damn anyone else who would manage to wander this far into his tunnels, if he was discovered then so be it. He could take no more pacing through his house wondering if he would see her again.

A sharp gasp drew him back. The noise caused his head to snap up, meeting her eyes. Had he been lost in his thoughts? Found a touch of sleep, perhaps? He couldn’t remember. She looked shocked to see him, but Erik could not find the will to form any words. He just stared back at her, pleading and silent.

 

She held her breath. It had been just over two months since she’d seen him last and he certainly looked it. His once immaculate clothes looked worn, his hair uncombed and bits flopping over the edge of the mask she had returned to him. Even his eyes, though they shined with fear and wonder, hid a weariness she had not seen in them before. Despite his unkempt appearance, relief rushed through her. She had worried incessantly that she had been mistaken with her last visit- that he had not truly been there. 

Standing over him, she couldn’t help but recall the last time he had been at her feet. Was this how he had lived the last nine weeks? Anxiously she tugged the small shawl she wore closer to her. Gathering what strength she could muster after her shock, her voice was still small and quiet as she carefully acknowledged him. “Erik,” 

The fear in his eyes softened, his thin body almost melting at the sound of her voice saying his name once more. His own voice was less guarded than hers, but thick with despair and love in equal measure. “Christine,”

How could one continue this conversation? She had fretted over this moment for the last few weeks, yet she had no real plan as to guide this confrontation. But then, apparently he didn’t know either! In fact, she wasn't quite sure she would even have this reunion.

She knew implicitly that she truly held the control of this meeting, just from the look of his eyes Erik was ready to weep and grovel at her feet, yet this could not console her inability to speak. It felt so awfully different now. Some distant part of her wished that they could go back to the life they had before. An impossible wish, however; that fateful night five cellars beneath the opera house had happened and now they must live with the consequences. Christine summoned up all of the strength she had stored for whatever she would find down here. Yes, they must live with the consequences of that night. 

She was the one to break the delicate silence between them. 

“I...” She began quietly, but the words died in her mouth. She swallowed and tried again. “I see you found your mask…” 

She met his gaze just in time to see him reach up and touch the white leather. He nodded softly, a gesture she could barely make out in the dim lighting except for the slight wavering of his hair.

“Yes. Thank you for that.” He spoke as one does to a wild animal, softly as to not spook her. 

She nodded and looked back to the water, dark and stagnant. “Meg found it. It didn’t feel right... Me keeping it, I mean.”

He stood as slowly as he spoke. “You could have gotten rid of it. Burned it even, if it offended you.” 

Christine shook her head, a sad smile playing at her lips. Even as she looked over her former angel again- standing at his full, gangly height with his dark cloak hiding most of his bony form- she still knew she held the power. He would not try to force her again, she knew. In an awful way she felt safe.

“I thought about it. It didn’t feel right." She repeated, before turning away again and biting her lip. "Besides, I needed to know if you… if you were alright.” She distractedly turned the gold band on her right hand. “If the mob had found you I would’ve heard, but if you were caught in the fire…” 

Christine did not dare voice that she knew the fire would not spread down here, between the lake and the incombustible stone. No, instead she had feared what he had done to himself after he let her go. And from the state of his dress, she had at least been partially correct in her concern for his health.

She met his gaze again, but could not read what expression lay hidden behind the white leather. His eyes were simply blank, staring back at her.

“You were worried for me?” 

By the tone of his voice, even he found that hard to believe. Though she could freely admit it wasn’t very logical to worry about her kidnapper, even he could not have forgotten the bond they had shared! For all his misdeeds, she still cared for him after all. She nodded.

“It is more than I deserve.” He said quietly, then turning from her. His fists clenched beneath his cloak. “You should not have come.” 

“What? Why?” She demanded furiously.

He turned on his heel and she could see the anger in his eyes, the very same anger she had seen that night. “Why, Christine? Why? I dropped a chandelier into a crowded opera house. I kidnapped you right off the stage and nearly forced you to marry me. I threatened to kill everyone there. If you haven’t noticed I’m _dangerous_. You shouldn't be here, you should be with your precious fiancé! Isn't that exactly what you wanted? To be free of me?”

“Don't you dare speak for me now. I noticed! I was there!” She took a step towards him. She’d spent three weeks just building up the courage to come back again- even if there was only a corpse waiting for her- and there was no way she’d be scared off now! “That is exactly why you owe this to me.”

He broke with a sob; he turned from her again. She was right, of course. Even if he wasn't in her debt, he would give her everything as much as it pained him. "Why? What would you ask of me?"

Christine gave a sad smile. "To talk with me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation below the opera house.

The journey to his home was different this time. They did not speak; the silence too strange and uncomfortable for them to bother with words. It was as though if the wrong word was said they would be forced to face up to what they were doing. She, engaged to the Vicomte, he, a wanted murderer- venturing down to the depths where he had kidnapped and nearly destroyed her along with a quarter of Paris.

The boat touched the docks like waking from a dream. Erik climbed out first, easy and swift from a thousand times practice- the kind of movement that no doubt aided his facade of the Phantom. He hung the pole and turned back to her, holding out one hand, like it was that simple. 

Erik hadn’t really been thinking when he held out his hand- it was habit at this point. It was how he had always helped her out of the boat. But Christine wasn’t looking at him with fear- something more like shock, like she isn’t sure. Erik would prefer shock to fear on her soft face any day. The world felt unbearably small as she tenderly slid her hand into his. 

She stepped onto the dock, so close to him he could feel her warmth-- long missed in his time hiding. If she noticed his shuddering inhale on her proximity, she didn’t show it. Erik cursed himself. She wasn’t back, she wasn’t his. She wanted to talk not put up with his desperate, childish fantasies. He had been her teacher, her confidant at some point- that’s who she wanted. Her angel.

With all his willpower Erik stepped away from her and she gratefully broke eye contact. Christine proceeded into the house on the lake; Erik followed behind like her shadow. 

Even from behind he could see her tense, saw her hand curl into a fist. Her eyes swept over the room, noting the changes Erik’s cleaning tried to hide. Nearly all the sketches that had littered the drawing room’s furniture and walls were suspiciously missing; the mantle above the fireplace had been almost completely wiped clean of its foreign baubles. She suspected the rug-adorned walls of Erik’s room no longer hid mirrors- the broken remains must’ve been tossed into the lake, but whether they had been smashed by Erik or the mob was anyone’s guess.

Christine drifted towards the room that she had once called hers. The door was cracked open, but Christine couldn’t summon the strength to peer inside. She wasn’t sure which she feared more; that he’d taken his rage out on what had represented her or that he’d preserved the room. Christine thought immediately to Shelley’s novel. Would it be apt to compare her angel’s love and rage to the monster’s? At once, her stomach clenched with guilt. 

Christine turned back to her host in time to watch him hang his cloak. Though his hands were busy, he was watching her warily, resigned to letting her guide this meeting. Which was fair, wasn’t it? She was the one who had invaded his personal underworld, the one who wanted to talk. 

She steadied herself and presented her best smile, shaky though it was. “Is tea out of the question?”

If Erik was offended at her casual request, he didn’t show it. He gave a curt nod and moved into the kitchen. She had no doubt he knew how she took her tea.

When he returned to the sitting room with two steaming cups Christine had taken her seat on the chaise longue closest to the fireplace. She appeared to be contemplating her hands, but looked up as he approached. She gave a grateful, polite smile and he was careful not to touch her fingers in exchanging the cup.

Erik sat on the sofa adjacent to the chaise longue, unsure how to gauge her acceptance of his proximity. It didn’t surprise him that her explanation for her (admittedly strange) behavior wasn’t tumbling from her lips; she was obviously as tentative about his situation as he was. But even having her this close again? After his… shameful deeds, truly, this was beyond anything he dared ask for or deserved. If she needed time to gather her thoughts surely he could spare all the time he had. 

At length, Christine spoke. “I’m not sure what to say.” She gave an expression close enough to apologetic. 

It wouldn’t be hard for Erik to prompt her; he had plenty of questions to ask. The problem was if he’d like the answers. Curiosity and the cat. But she would tell him sooner or later, whether he asked or not. 

“Why wait three weeks?”

Christine’s brow furrowed. “At first it was… because I thought you…” The words trailed off as she gave a wry smile and huffed a laugh at herself. “That you didn’t want to see me. That you ignored me on purpose.”

Erik would’ve admonished her for ever thinking he could turn her away, but she was already giving a useless shrug at her own silliness. She took a sip of her tea as she prepared her next segment. 

“Raoul isn’t…” 

Erik tensed but forced himself to appear relaxed. She was surely married by now; the Vicomte would’ve come up eventually. But Erik was by no means a marriage counselor. Perhaps he could console the woman he loved, but this will very quickly become complicated if she was here only for advice on her lover. Damn. 

“Raoul hasn’t been the same.” She continued, apparently too focused on her own discomfort to notice his. Which was probably for the best, he noted, for _la douleur exquise_ was surely all too visible in his gaze. 

When Erik did not respond, she continued. “He gets… awful nightmares, and when he wakes he fears any shadow.” She shook her head. “He’s… paranoid. Nearly refuses to let me leave his home, and when he does he insists on coming with me. It upsets him to no end when I sing or when I do not answer his call at once. He won’t listen to reason any longer he’s so absorbed in his frayed emotions.”

While Raoul had always been the emotion-driven love sick pup, this was surely too strong a reaction. What did Raoul have to be worried about? Erik had let the couple go, had he not? Obviously Christine felt he was… safe enough, even if Erik could not understand the logic she used to come to that conclusion. “So you come to the monster that he fears? What do you expect me to do about it? You chose him, flaws and all.”

Irritation flitted over her pale face, blunted only by courtesy. “You act as though you have done nothing wrong, as though you were just a rival suitor! In case you have so selectively chosen to forget, I did choose to stay with you; _you_ chose to let us go because you knew it was wrong.” 

Rage, shame, and love heated his face in turns. His eyes were surely burning, though which awful emotion was the direct cause was a guess to either of them. His voice dipped low, and though he could never follow through against her, a threat was woven in his words. “That still doesn’t explain what you want me to do about him.”

“I want you to do nothing at all.” She replied pointedly. ”I came to talk, to get away for a while.” She grew quiet for a moment. “We used to just talk, after my lessons. I always felt I could talk to you about anything.” 

Of course! He had been right: she wanted her angel, her guardian! His beautiful little fool, how could she trust him so easily? So easily he could manipulate her again… No. No, he couldn’t. He sighed.“Things could never be the same between us, Christine.”

“I am very aware. I am not asking to turn back time, just to talk with you.” 

“Then why not talk with Mlle. Giry or the other ballet rats? They never tried to kill him.”

“Mme. Giry and Meg have been busy, they and some of the others went to the _Théâtre Impérial du Châtlet_. La Sorelli was offered a contract from the Sferisterio; she traveled far from Paris.” A sip of tea paused her thoughts. A smile slipped over her lips causing Erik to tilt his head... “Plus, their tea is never this good.”

A wry smile hid behind his white mask. “Traveling India is very informative on how to make tea.”

Christine huffed a laugh, before quieting again. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone else would understand. Plus I’ve been…” She paused, a soft furrow on her brow appearing as she considered her phrasing. She stared at his mask, as though trying to use it to measure her response. “Worried about you.”

Erik scoffed. “You don't need to lie for my sake, Christine.”

She stared at him, her former smile becoming a resigned slash. Her hazel eyes danced between his. Something warmer and sadder than pity coated her angelic voice. “I’ve always cared about you, Erik.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has really bugged me. I might edit/repost it later, but I really wanted it out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine returns to her fiancé.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, whoops. It hasn't been three months, has it? Because another Phantom fic idea has been eating at me, I shall try to finish this before I pursue that.

The sun had slid low on the parisian skyline, casting soft oranges on the clouds that crowded over the bustling city. Rue Scribe was busy with the evening’s traffic of carriages, the edges of the street filled with pedestrians, all of which too absorbed in their own affairs to notice the small woman slipping into the crowd.

As soon as Christine laid eyes on the setting sun she realized she’d made an awful mistake. If she had stayed a shorter time perhaps she could have convinced Raoul she had only been off on a day trip to relax. But now? He must be pacing the hall, perhaps he had even sent out word to look for her….

Well! If she was to be late home, she may as well be late with a gift. 

 

Sure enough, when Christine’s arrival was announced Raoul appeared immediately, wrapping her up in a warm embrace. Christine immediately returned the affection, but shame washed over her when he pulled away. His hands found her cheeks, a manic worry in his eyes. She placed a conciliatory hand over his and tried to calm him with her smile.

“Christine…” He dragged a hand through her hair. “I was so worried, where have you been?”

As soon as he asked, he sniffed the air. Christine stiffened in horror-- could he smell Erik’s dank lair on her? No, no, they would fight and-- “Bread?” 

She relaxed immediately, smiled, and grabbed her handbag. Withdrawing a small paper bag that smelled of fresh bread, she offered it to him. “I needed to get out for a while.”

“Out?” He echoed softly. “For bread? We have some here, why didn’t you just ask one of the maids…?”

Christine smiled quietly, “No, I needed out of the house, dear. To stretch my legs.” 

“Oh, w-well. I should go with you next time… It’s getting quite cold out there. Would be dreadful to catch a cold...” Before she could protest that she was quite safe and healthy, he laid a hand on her arm and guided them into the parlor where they sat before a fire and began pulling apart the bread. 

Lying to her fiancé was not something she had ever intended to get used to, but she knew if she revealed where she had been the two times she’d snuck out of the house he’d likely move out of Paris and send the gendarme down to slay the monster. It wasn’t as though she were being unfaithful- not like so many of the other upper class families she had been introduced to. There was no shortage of wagging tongues and fresh spiels of gossip to engage in, especially after the tales of the Phantom had died away.

“I’m quite capable on my own, Raoul.” Startled offense shook her fiancé’s expression and she realized she had come off too sharp. “I’ve been on my own for quite a while. Independence has suited me well; it’s a hard habit to break.” 

Carefully, Raoul drew her hands together and held them. “It worries me. I have to make sure you’re safe… how could I live with myself if something were to happen to you?” He pressed a shivering kiss to her hands. “Every time you’re gone for more than a few minutes I worry that he has you again…” 

Bitter guilt rose up in her throat. She bit it back angrily; she had nothing to be guilty for. Raoul hadn’t been with her today- he hadn’t seen the horror in her angel’s eyes over his own actions! “You can’t keep me safe by keeping me in the house. I could just as easily trip down the stairs and break my neck!” She tried to play the comment off lightly, but it only seemed to increase his anxieties. 

“The stairs didn’t try to kill me, Christine! You don’t know what it was like in there…” He dropped her hands to press his own against his eyes. “It was so awful…even with that Persian there-”

“Nadir.” Christine supplied automatically, recalling the odd man.  
“Yes, yes, even with him there I couldn’t figure what was real or fake. Nothing made sense until after we had nearly been washed out into that lake…” 

Raoul shuddered violently, recalling with abject horror his own hallucinations and how close he had been to taking his own life through the Phantom’s torture. He nearly leapt from the sofa when Christine laid her hand on his forearm.

“That’s all over, dear. It’s over and you and I are safe.” 

As comforting as she’d intended the comment, it immediately backfired. Raoul shot up and paced frantically, wringing his hands. “No, no, that’s not true. They never found his body, he could still be out there Christine! We’ll never be safe until he’s dead… he’ll never give up, I’m sure of it!” 

“Raoul,” What could she say honestly? No, he’s quite docile now, in fact I had tea with him earlier! It hardly mattered; Raoul continued on with his rant without paying her interjection any mind.

“Maybe if we left the country for a while we’d be more safe… We could move out into the countryside, somewhere quiet for a while. Or perhaps farther? England is horrid in the winter, but Spain is quite nice. We should pack at once.” 

“Raoul, no. We aren’t going to leave the country.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because there’s no reason to!” She desperately wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. This had been her life for the last nine weeks: Raoul shaken and anxious and paranoid that every shadow in his window was Erik returning to kill him and take her. And yet for nine weeks he had left them! The only contact between them was because of Christine seeking him out. “I knew him, Raoul. He won’t bother us, I’m sure of it.” She choked back her guilt once more: “If he even lives.” 

“If he lives! Oh, he must! He was an efficient illusionist, that devil! He must live and he’ll never leave us alone… He’s simply biding his time until he can strike again!” 

“Raoul, you’re being unfair! You’re accusing him of things he has not done!”

“You- you’re defending that monster? After all he’s done?” 

“Yes! I was there, too! He has done many horrible things, but.... the sadness in his eyes…” She shook her head- recalling how utterly broken he’d appeared that night. First broken from his own madness and then broken again from her kindness. “He won’t bother us, Raoul. I’m sure of it.” 

“That’s right you did have a better view of that face after you, you… kissed it!” He shuddered with obvious disgust, his face souring.  
Christine’s mouth hung open. At first for the shock of him using her own sacrifice against her. She had been willing to give up her personal freedom to save his (and several hundred others’) life and yet his own hatred of Erik had even poisoned this. Angry tears welled up in her eyes. 

She sniffed and turned from him. “I have not visited Mama Valerius in some time. I am going to go spend a few days with her.” 

“Christine, I didn’t--”

“No, Raoul. I’m going and you cannot stop me or you are no better than he is!” 

She retrieved only a small bag of items and left without a further word to him. Raoul did not try to stop her, only stare at the quickly cooling bread in his hand.


End file.
